Fear is all around us

Innocence Lost

True Story

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Christie looks up at the neon sign. It flashes the word 'Joy' in alternative red and purple lights. Pulling her full length leather coat round her on this wintry night she pushes open the door, noticing the small CCTV camera positioned above it.

Christie has been around. Late thirties but could camouflage the faint lines around her eyes and mouth with years of expertise. Attractive in a gaudy way, the plastic surgery and Botox had softened her features and fought off the ravages of her nocturnal lifestyle. Under her coat she wore her uniform; a black basque one size too small which pushed her surgically enhanced breasts up so that they spilled out over the top like two milky mounds. Her slim, shapely legs were adorned in matching black hold up stockings. Between these two garments were her black leather thongs. To complete the appearance she wore black elbow length silk gloves and leather boots spiked at the toe and finished in chrome. Yes, she'd been around.

She enters the reception and sees the matron behind a bar counter and introduces herself. ''Hi, I'm Christie. It's my first night here.''

''Yes I know,'' the matron replies, shamelessly eyeing her up and down, greedily devouring her new employee with a lewd smile. ''My husband interviewed you yesterday and told me all about you.'' Another smile then, ''He's also my Master. I share him occasionally, with the right person...'' Her voice rises, implicating a question, which Christie ignores.

''Let's see the room then,'' she impassively replies.

As Matron leads her down a corridor dimly lit with low watt red lights and occasional thick wooden doors Christie was reminded of a passage in a medieval castle she once visited as a child. She was innocent back then. Small town suburban upbringing with typical trappings: two parents, detached house, two younger sisters and a dog. It all seemed so long ago.

A gap year following University saw her go to Spain to travel and look for work. She found it as a barmaid in the millionaire's playground of Marbella. An older British woman frequented the bar and had befriended her. Wendy was from a small town in England but seemed 'international' in her personality, clothes, style and demeanor. She'd obviously shed her inhibitions in a foreign place. She confided in Christie her secret. She worked as a dominatrix, servicing the rich playboys and successful businessmen that craved the type of total domination that she offered.

''That's my alter ego, darling. Whiplash Wendy, that's me. It's my vocation.'' She would regale Christie of her exploits in a dramatic way, gesticulating with her hands to emphasize a point. Those hands. A gin and tonic in one and about thirty grand's worth of jewelry on the other.

That's where it all started. Christie was attracted to the lifestyle and the wealth. And she loved the power that her role permitted. It was intoxicating. As were the drugs that helped her to relax; marijuana to start with, then she was introduced to cocaine. That first snort of coke had elevated her to a level of hedonism that made her feel absolutely, utterly wonderful. Fifteen years later she was still chasing that first hit. That had been her downfall and the slippery slope had brought her to this place; 'Joy' in grubby Putney.

Matron stops at a door and pushes it open to reveal its interior. Next to the king size bed is a table furnished with all the appropriate ornaments; belts, canes, whips and restraining equipment. Then she sees the cage with its thick, black vertical bars housing a huge, wooden cross with a strap and buckle at each apex. Not a crucifix type, more like the St. Andrew's version with its diagonal angles. ''I know Master has gone through the pay, terms and conditions with you already, darling, so you're good to go! To receive your first customer just ring the bell next to the bed which sounds in our waiting area.''